


Show You (what all that howl is for)

by orphan_account



Series: Wolf Like Me [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Feels, Derek is an idiot, Future Fic, Howling, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Oblivious Derek, Pack Feels, Pre-Slash, Protective Derek, Stiles is always right, but his wolf knows what's going down, the villian is a tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-02-04
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:31:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Do you even know why a wolf howls? It's a signal. When a wolf's alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack."</i><br/>-<br/>The whole situation bothers Derek more than it should. It’s just - it’s just <i>Stiles.</i> Who cares if he shows up to training or not - he's not pack. </p>
<p>He is <i>not pack.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Show You (what all that howl is for)

**Author's Note:**

> _"Do you even know why a wolf howls? It's a signal. When a wolf's alone, it howls to signal its location to the rest of the pack."_  
>  \- Stiles Stilinski, S1E1.
> 
> Un-betaed.

"Of course I'm part of the pack!"

Derek sighs. This isn't an argument he’s willing to have - not again, and especially not now. He can barely think with the pungent odor of sweat in the air, and the even sharper, more distressing scent of pain that originates from nearly every muscle in Stile's body. It’s the inevitable result of Stiles insisting on training with Derek and his Betas. It’s the unavoidable repercussion of a human trying to keep up with werewolves.

It’s the consequence of a human trying to be pack.

"You're not part of the pack, Stiles," Derek says, voice flat and exasperated.

"Yes, I am!" Stiles insists again, as if the Alpha has simply skipped over him in the pack headcount. "I help you guys with everything! I do the research, I drive the get-away car..."

Derek lets out a frustrated growl and wipes a hand over his face. "A human can't be pack, Stiles," he states bluntly.

"You had human family members!" Stiles argues. The teenager winces as he brings up the taboo subject, but Derek keeps his expression impassive.

"They were blood, Stiles," he says. "That's different."

Actually, it isn't. There have been humans in werewolf packs as long as there have been werewolf packs, and no blood relation is required - just the deep, unwavering loyalty that each member shares. If nothing else, Derek has to admit that Stiles has that in spades, and when he finally accepts the bite, Derek knows that he will make a fine Beta. Perhaps the best.

But until then, Stiles will have to be on his own. Derek can't risk having a human pack member. His "ragtag band of misfits" (Stiles' words, not his) is small and inexperienced and so vulnerable that each new threat keeps Derek up at night, certain that it will be their downfall. A human would only slow them down, like his human family members used to slow down his and Laura's games back when they were children - the human family members that burned to death years ago, their weak and defenseless bodies cruelly reduced to ash and soot.

"Why?" Stiles asks, his face beginning to twist in anger and hurt. It’s as if he’s finally realizing that Derek isn't teasing him, isn't just being deliberately obtuse. "Why can't I be pack?"

There is only one way to end an argument with Stiles Stilinski, and that’s to go straight for the jugular.

"Because you'll only make us weak."

In a literal sense, Derek has never experienced silence. Even in the quietest of places he can still hear his own heart, an unyielding background beat to accompany the orchestra of the surrounding world. So while Derek can still hear heartbeats, and breaths, and birds and breezes and bugs, the complete stillness that seizes Stiles almost seems to hush the entire forest.

Stiles gapes at him mutely for a too-long moment, and then his lips twist into something ugly. Derek watches with morbid fascination as his muscles tense and his jaw ticks, rage overtaking his expression like a slow-dripping poison. His fists curl, his eyes narrow, and Derek mentally braces himself for the cutting tirade he’s about to endure.

And then Stiles droops.

It’s abrupt - as if all of the teen’s muscles have been cut. His anger seems to evaporate, leaving behind exasperation and barely-concealed hurt. He closes himself off in a way that Derek hasn’t seen since the pack came together and it’s like a door slamming shut in Derek’s face.

"Fine," Stiles says, getting up from the rough patch of forest floor he was sitting on. His legs shake like a newborn fawn, still weak and overexerted from the three-mile sprint he tried to follow the Betas on. He stumbles and Derek shoots a hand out to steady him, but at the last moment Stiles swerves backwards and crashes his shoulder against a tree trunk instead.

Stiles winces and Derek stares, hand still outstretched.

Stiles straightens up again, more carefully this time, and shoots Derek an unreadable look before he turns and begins to gingerly hobble away.

"Stiles-" Derek starts.

"Nah, that’s cool, whatever," Stiles says, voice normal but somehow colder than Derek has ever heard it. "I’m just gonna head back to my Jeep and drive it home, because my delicate human muscles feel like significantly more delicate jelly muscles and seeing as I’m _not a werewolf_ and don’t have any _super wolfy healing powers_ , it’ll probably take _at least_ a week before I’m tip-top shape again, or as tip-top shape as a _weak human_ can be, so -- see you then, I guess."

"In a week?" Derek asks, bewildered. "Stiles, we have overnight survival training this Friday." _And you’re going to make s’mores and talk incessantly in your sleep all night and convince everyone to revolt against me by sleeping in the next morning_ , he doesn’t say, _like always._

"No," Stiles answers, still making slow progress away from Derek. " _The pack_ has overnight survival training."

Luckily the route Derek took his betas on looped back around to the edge of the forest, so Stiles doesn’t have long to walk before he reaches his Jeep. The familiar rumble of its engine begins to fade away and it takes an equally familiar heartbeat with it, and long after both are gone Derek is still standing in the forest, listening to the cacophony of sounds around him.

The silence is nearly unbearable.

-

Friday’s survival training goes terribly. Derek pushes the pack harder than he ever has and breaks enough bones to feel like an abusive asshole. No one makes s’mores and everyone sleeps in sullen silence; in the morning, all of the betas get up early so they can leave just after sunrise. They all show their disdain for him in their goodbyes - Lydia sticks her nose up at him and flounces away haughtily, Erica sneers and Isaac huffs in accusation, Allison and Scott glare and Boyd shakes his head disapprovingly.

They all know that Derek has something to do with Stiles’ absence, but no one has been able to reach Stiles to figure out how.

The whole situation bothers Derek more than it should. It’s just - it’s just _Stiles_. Who cares if he shows up to training or not - he is _not pack_.

He is _not pack_.

-

It’s a week later and Derek has still not heard from Stiles. He’s in the woods, hunting in full-alpha form, not for lack of food but because his wolf has been oddly restless all week. It’s not that he’s having trouble controlling it, it’s more like the wolf’s agitation is bleeding into his own emotions, tensing him up and making him more short-tempered than usual. He can barely stand to talk to anyone, and even if he wanted to he doubts he could sit still long enough to have an actual conversation. His wolf is scratching at the back of his mind, knotting up the space between his shoulder blades and demanding he _do_ something, _find_ something, _find it, fix it, fix it, fixfixfix, wrong, something’s wrong, something’s missing, find it. Fix it find it fix it bring it back._

Usually he and his wolf are in perfect sync, but now Derek has no idea what it wants. He just knows that it _wants_.

So he hunts. It doesn’t ease the ache but it distracts the wolf, at least a little.

He’s just finishing up, reluctantly shifting back into his human form and pulling on a pair of jeans he’d stashed in a hollow trunk beforehand, when he hears -

_No!_

His wolf is busting through him full-force. His fangs explode from his gums and his claws shoot out of his fingertips. His eyes flash brighter than ever as the shift crashes over him, forcing a half-change instantaneously. He doesn’t fight it, his human half just as frantic as his wolf because that _sound_ -  _fuck_ , that sound was a _howl,_ the call of a wolf that is in pure agony, the call of a packmate that needs his Alpha _now_.

His bare human feet pound over forest debris, the soles bloodying and healing over and over without Derek sparing a single thought to it. His claws slash out ahead of him, cutting down everything in his path and there is _a lot_ in his path because Derek isn’t bothering to weave around obstacles, just flying in a straight line toward his wounded packmember and he’s never run like this before. He feels like one of those mothers on the news that lifts cars off their children, hopped up on adrenaline and panic, and he’s howling as he sprints, and when he receives no answer he outright _roars_. As he draws nearer he can make out plaintive whimpers and pained gasping, the sharp stench of pain and fear.

And it hurts Derek, makes his wolf whine, because _pack hurt pack pain protect heal find pack fix protect pack fix find pack pack pack_.

He’s been Alpha for nearly two years now and he’s never felt like this, never felt the responsibility this strongly, like a tangible thing writhing in his gut.

He’s knows, suddenly, that he’s never understood what it means to be an Alpha until this moment, never felt a sense of _Pack_ like this.

Which is why it’s so shocking when he busts into a small clearing with claws out and fangs bared, ready to rip whatever is hurting his pack to shreds -

and finds _Stiles_.

Stiles doesn’t see him. He’s sitting on the forrest floor, his shoulders curled inward and his head hanging low. His whimpers have stopped and he’s panting harshly now, a determined expression on his face as he pushes ineffectively at a fallen tree trunk. Derek whines low in the back of his throat when he realizes that Stiles’ right leg is pinned beneath it.

Stiles’ head snaps up at the sound and he stares at Derek like a bunny caught in a snare. They both stay completely still, their breathing labored as they stare incredulously, equally shocked to see each other.

Derek’s wolf gets frustrated at the wait - _how dare you just stand there when our pack is hurt_ \- and Derek is lurching forward. The move is too sudden and Stiles startles, crying out when his scrambling yanks the trapped leg.

"Stay still!" Derek barks, but his voice is frantic, worried. Stiles freezes and watches Derek approach helplessly. The teen’s expression is twisted in anguish but his cheeks are dry.

He kneels across from Stiles. He looks into honey-amber eyes and says, "I’m here," in his gravelly half-shifted growl, because this human _howled_ for him and now Derek’s here. His Alpha is here, and he’ll do whatever it takes to bring his lost and injured pup back into the fold.

Stiles doesn’t answer, but his eyes widen and his breath catches.

Derek reaches across the trunk to curl his hand across the back of Stiles’ neck. He takes extra care not to scrape the boy with his claws - _don’t hurt don’t hurt_ \- and squeezes firmly.

It’s a move that comes purely from the wolf, and Derek knows it’s going to scare the shit out of Stiles. A human won’t understand a gesture like that; Stiles is going to _freak_.

But Stiles doesn’t. Instead, every muscle in him goes slack and his breathing evens out. He stares at Derek with glazed eyes and tilts his head back, pressing into Derek’s hand and baring his throat. Derek’s claws haven’t retracted - Stiles’ life is literally _in his hands_ \- and Derek and his wolf both rumble in pure contentment at the obvious show of trust. The agitation that Derek has been feeling for days fades away, and the knot between his shoulder blades untangles.

"Derek," Stiles finally speaks. His voice is hoarse. "Derek - _please_."

Derek doesn’t waste any more time. He tries to slide his hands underneath the tree but the attempt shifts it and makes Stiles choke on a scream. Derek growls and digs his claws into the top of the trunk instead, suddenly so _enraged_ at this hunk of wood that has hurt Stiles, that _dares_ to keep an Alpha from one of his pups. The rage builds and builds until Derek is angry enough to simply _lift_ the tree and toss it away.

Stiles does scream, then, but Derek’s hands are on him immediately, black sludge traveling up his arms as he takes the pain away. He’s relieved to see that Stiles’ leg isn’t crushed. It’s obviously broken, but the ground was soft enough to allow Stiles’ leg to sink slightly when the tree crashed onto it, and there’s a good chance that the break is clean. Derek shifts and picks Stiles up as gently as he can. He cradles him to his chest bridal-style, which may not provide the best support for his leg but he simply absorbs more of Stiles’ pain so the boy doesn’t notice the jostling.

Derek’s wolf wants nothing more than to take Stiles back to the Hale house, because it’s den and it’s safe, and the thought of strangers seeing a member of his pack in such a state of weakness makes his hackles rise. But Derek’s human is back in control now and he knows that Stiles needs a doctor, a cast and some high-grade painkillers, so he gathers the teen close and starts running towards the Camaro.

Stiles mashes his cheek to Derek’s bare chest and lets himself be carried by his Alpha.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
